


Inauguration

by Steena



Series: The pound 'verse [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Kissing, NSFW, Oral Sex, PWP, Shameless Smut, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/pseuds/Steena
Summary: Barricade had longed for touch for quite some time, but how to ask for it was a mystery for the broken Decepticon. Luckily for him, other mechs know how to initiate contact, and how to show Barricade what he is in for when he’s ready.This is a what if scenario, what if Barricade didn't interface with Crosshairs that time when Jazz took Dreadbot to Ratchet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maderi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maderi/gifts).



Crosshairs' digits are laced with Barricade's, but the Sniper is still managing to caress the plating on Barricade's thigh, slipping over the edge repeatedly, not quite reaching deeper to more sensitive components, but still enough to feel rather intimate.

The Saleen glances at Crosshairs, not quite sure how to handle it. _His frame is heating up_. It isn’t that it feels repulsive, that he feels like his frame is betraying him. It’s more of a confusion. Sure, he has been turned on by things before, _and it was humiliating every time_ , but this feels rather natural, even if it’s the most physical contact he has had in a while, and the first touches he hasn’t wanted to avoid. _And Crosshairs is attractive, he won’t lie to himself about that_.

Crosshairs glances back, a not quite innocent smirk stretching his lip-plates. Without letting go of Barricade’s servo, he nudges the inside of the Interceptor’s thigh to push his leg against the Sniper’s. They’re sitting really close, so it is just a small movement, but spreading his leg even just a few inches does make Barricade feel vulnerable. _Exposed, even with his panel still shut._

He doesn’t protest, because he isn’t certain if it’s just a kneejerk reaction after everything he has been through. _And their servos resting against the inside of his thigh does send a thrill up his wiring, straight to his array, but in a way that doesn’t make him feel filthy._

They sit like that for a while, Barricade very focused on the digits toying with his plating, nerve-rackingly close, yet frustratingly far from where he’s getting increasingly hot and uncomfortable. His spark spins wildly in his chest, and he barely has any of his attention on the movie. Then Crosshairs lets go of his hand to put his arm across Barricade’s shoulders. The Interrogator’s vents hitch when the Sniper presses in closer.

“Ye’re so fuckin’ ho’.” Crosshairs murmurs in his audial, the rush of hot air tickling Barricade’s helm.

Then lips brush his audial horn and it sends a jolt through his systems, crawling down his spinal struts, sending a heaviness to his array, thrilling his limbs until the tips of his pedes are tingling. Barricade shudders with pleasure, and he feels how Crosshairs lips curve against his plating before the Paratrooper mouths at his fin.

Barricade gasps, the sensation almost overwhelming after so long without being touched in any way. _He never imagined that physical contact could feel so good, or he would’ve tried harder to get it. Maybe._

Crosshairs has moved down to mouth along Barricade’s neck, and it’s so much more than he hoped for. _They’re moving too fast_. His valve is going slick, and his spike is sending requests for pressurization, and Barricade is so not ready for this much, this quickly. The Sniper is mouthing at Barricade’s chin, and even though his spark is spinning so fast, he feels like he’s going to fall into reboot, the Interceptor still turns his helm, meeting Crosshairs.

There’s a slow, sensual slide of glossa against Barricade’s folded back denta, and he gasps, opening his intake, and it allows the Paratrooper to deepen the kiss. The Decepticon follows his lead, letting his glossa meet Crosshairs’, hardly believing what he’s doing. _His first real kiss._ It’s such a heady feeling, he can’t process straight. _Too fast. He’s attracted to Crosshairs, but Jazz has been the one who figures in his fantasies, in his wet dreams. And he was mad at Jazz. Going further with Crosshairs right now might be a mistake, made for all the wrong reasons. He really should stop…_

The Corvette may have teeked it in his field, or picked up on some other signal, because he pulls back.

“Too much?”

“I...yeah.” He feels rather bad about saying so, because the Paratrooper is obviously very attracted to him, and under different circumstances, Barricade might very well have wanted it to go further.

“’m sorry, I go’ a li’l carried away. Slow down?”

“Maybe just cuddles?” _He can curl up against Crosshairs without feeling bad about it, but he doesn’t want any bases to be conquered tonight._

Crosshairs nods, a thread of disappointment weaving through his field, but Barricade can still teek that the Sniper accepts it. He leans his helm against Crosshairs’ shoulder when the Corvette pulls him in, lacing their digits again, and then they settle in to watch the movie.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“This looks cozy.” Jazz says from the doorway.

Barricade’s helm snaps up. He was halfway into recharge, helm on the armrest, back against Crosshairs’ front, the Sniper’s arm draped across his midsection. They’ve been stretched out like that for hours, and it’s very comforting and relaxing to be so close to someone. But now, Barricade’s relaxation is blown out the window.

_They’re just snuggling innocently. Jazz can’t be mad about that, can he? But of course he can, he is the one who has put months and months into making sure that Barricade is healthy and comfortable…_

“Yeah, really cozy.” Crosshairs says sleepily, without a trace of worry.

The Paratrooper hugs the Saleen harder for a few seconds before letting him go. Barricade immediately sits up, apprehensive about the compromising position they were found in. Jazz studies him and Barricade squirms under the heavy gaze.

“It was nice.” He mumbles, not wanting to make Jazz think that he was unwilling, but not quite ready to admit exactly how good it felt.

“Ya wanna crash on tha couch?” Jazz asks Crosshairs.

“Nah. Hide wants me te come over. Thanks anyway.” Crosshairs says, getting up from behind Barricade.

The Sniper steals a kiss from Jazz, all wandering servos and pede curling heat, before heading for the door, and the Spy follows him, sees him out. Barricade is left sitting on the couch, palm still tingling from Crosshairs’ last touch, plating feeling cold when there’s no hot frame to press up against, and his spark spinning with nerves.  _He really enjoyed himself, and if it wasn’t for the complicated situation with Jazz, he might have gone much further with the Corvette. Barricade is still kind of revved up…_

“So, ya had a good day?” Jazz asks, that ridiculously handsome smile stretching his lip-plates when he returns.

“It was good.” Barricade confirms. 

_Why is he getting nervous? He has been around Jazz for so long, without other mechs present, and he has never felt… like this. It isn’t the fear he held on to for so long, it’s more of an anticipatory apprehension._ Jazz comes to stand in front of him and Barricade hesitantly meets his visor.

“Can I have a seat?” The Spy asks him, vaguely indicating the couch.

“Yes, of course.” Barricade mumbles.

Jazz sinks down next to him, leaning back until he’s sprawled. His legs are rather spread, and even if the Autobot is just relaxing, Barricade’s optics are drawn to Jazz’s pelvic plating.  _Get a fucking grip on yourself, and stop ogling the mech._

“We’re gonna have a serious talk tomorrow, ‘bout how we treat each other in this house, but right now, I jus’ wanna relax a li’l. Damn, my pedes hurt.” Jazz offlines his visor while he speaks, but then it slides away, and he rubs his optics. 

Barricade’s spark hiccups.  _Of course he wouldn’t get away with telling Dreadbot the truth._

“Ok.” Barricade mumbles, leaning back to sprawl similarly to Jazz.

He starts the movie him and Crosshairs were about to watch, and they sit there silently for quite some time before Jazz turns to look at Barricade.

“Ya enjoy snuggling?”

_It isn’t an accusation, but still it feels that way._

“I… yes.” Barricade admits quietly.

“I didn’ know.” 

“Neither did I.”

“Wanna cuddle a li’l?”

Barricade is almost shocked by the question, how simple it is. He has wanted it for so long without knowing how to take the first step, and here Jazz is, just asking straight up.  _He’d be a fool to decline though_.

“I do.”

Jazz puts an arm across Barricade’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and the Saleen leans into the Spy. Jazz’s field is relaxed and welcoming, the Autobot stroking his shoulder with clever digits. Such an innocent gesture that has such a strong effect on the Saleen. His frame is heating up, wiring humming with a low charge.  _Valve_ _feeling slicker._

They sit like that for a while, Barricade’s focus slipping from the movie to every point of contact between their frames, to every sound and movement of Jazz’s.  _The way the Solstice’s digits are dipping deeper between his plates, sometimes even tweaking cables and wires._

The Saleen manages to muster up the courage to let his servo slide from his lap to Jazz’s thigh, plucking with a plate in a way he hopes can pass for absentmindedly, spark spinning nervously.

_It seemed so easy for Crosshairs to instigate more, but he’s still not sure how to do it. And how much more does he want? Maybe he should settle for cuddling?_  

His train of thought derails when Jazz’s digits slide to the base of Barricade’s shoulder-wing, tweaking sensitive brackets there, and the Saleen gasps, because that touch is perfectly calculated to do as much damage to his composure as possible. It feels like his entire array is pulsing, burning with need, and there’s just no way he’s going to  _settle_  for  _cuddling._

“Primus, Cade, your field…” Jazz groans, touches getting sloppier and more eager as he leans in more heavily against the Interceptor.

_He wants, Primus, does he want, but he’s still not sure how to continue, if he will be able to follow through, because his spark feels like it’s going to explode in his chest, spinning at dizzying speeds with arousal and nerves._

Jazz turns to mouth at Barricade’s neck, nipping the Saleen’s neck-cables with sharp denta, soothing the bites with slow licks. He works Barricade’s shoulder-wing with one servo, the talons of his other hand teasing the Interceptor’s grill, and it all adds up to send thrills down Barricade’s back-struts to land heavily in his array.

_His panel snaps open._

Barricade squeaks in embarrassment, freezing up, but it’s such a relief, feels so good with cool air against his heated valve-lips, his spike free to pressurize instead of being jammed behind his plate.

Jazz hums against his neck-cables, nipping once more before he leans back, a quick glance at Barricade’s array, as if the Spy just can’t help himself, before making optic contact. 

“Now,  _that’s_  a very fine piece of equipment.”

The only thing the Decepticon manages to do is making a small sound of embarrassment.

“Ya’ve got nothin’ ta be ashamed of, sweetspark,” Jazz says, a slow grin tugging at his lips, “ya’re rather… _thick.”_  

Barricade definitely squeaks at that.

“’n those ridges look… mhm, just,  _damn.”_  Jazz says without breaking optic contact, grin widening.  _The spy is teasing him, but not in a nasty way_.

Two of Barricade’s optics flick down to his spike, looking at the part he has stroked every day since that recharge-overload, but hasn’t really paid attention to.  _Maybe it is thick? It isn’t something he has been proud of, haven’t thought about it like that._

“So darlin’, what d’ya want right now?”

_What does he want? Is he ready to go further with Jazz, even if he wasn’t with Crosshairs? How far can he go? Should he depressurize his spike and offer his valve?_

“Ya know, we don’t hafta do  _anythin_ ’, n’ we stop immediately if ya get uncomfortable.” Jazz reassures him.

“I-I… I think I want to continue?”

“We go slow, n’ ya tell me if ya wanna stop.” Jazz says rather seriously.

“Yes.”

Jazz smirks again, going from serious to all lascivious intent in under half a second. The Spy leans in slowly, optics flicking down to Barricade’s intake. The Autobot licks his lips, mouth open as he moves closer, agonizingly slow. The Saleen’s spark flies up into his throat-tubing.  _Jazz is going to kiss him_.

He leans forward to meet Jazz, lips barely touching at first, just a light press of soft metal against metal. But Jazz has no intentions of leaving it at that. His glossa slips against Barricade’s lips, slides into the Interceptor’s intake, and it unfreezes Barricade. He grabs Jazz’s shoulder tire, kneading and tweaking, glossa battling Jazz’s for dominance. The Mustang’s cooling fans speed up, and he grinds his chest-plates against the Spy’s. He loses himself completely, mind blank as he is fully occupied with noticing every slight touch, every vent from Jazz’s frame that blows hot air against Barricade’s in full body caresses. He doesn’t even notice when he breaks the kiss, leaning his helm back to get his bearings, the amount of sensory input dizzying.

Jazz does not stay idle though, taking the opportunity to lick and nip his way down Barricade’s neck-cables, a servo sliding down the Interceptor’s side, thumb grazing his ventral plating.  _Towards his rock hard spike._

Barricade stiffens.

“Relax, darlin’. I won’t do anythin’ ya don’ want me ta.” Jazz murmurs against Barricade’s chest-plate.

Then he licks the Mustang’s headlight, and the Decepticon’s vocalizer crackles with surprised static as he arches into the teasing glossa. Jazz’s thumb slides down to the juncture of Barricade’s hip joint, close to his array, but without touching. Barricade’s hips still twitch of their own accord. Jazz’s mouthing is leaving a slow trail of tingling plating in it’s wake as the Spy is moving downward even more, and Barricade’s spark hiccups with nerves.  _What is the Autobot doing?_

“Would ya allow me ta put my mouth on your array?” Jazz answers the unspoken question with a question of his own, as if he knows what Barricade was thinking. 

“I-I… Why would you want to do that?” He blurts nervously.

Jazz chuckles against his ventral plating, mouth getting close to where the head of Barricade’s weeping spike is smearing his plating. The Autobot’s thumb slides along Barricade’s hip joint,  _almost_  grazing a plump valve-lip.

“Because ya look edible, downright tasty. N’ I  _really_  wanna see if I can make at least two of your optics fritz.”

Barricade make’s a very small sound, something he would deny being an eep afterwards.

“Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, darlin’?”

“I… ah… I,  _yes._ ” He stutters before he can change his mind and back out.

“Good call. I’m told that I’m  _very_  good at this.” Jazz says, a smirk evident in his voice.

The Solstice slides down to the floor, smoothly enough to look like he was being poured down Barricade’s frame, dropping off the seat of the couch. Then he nudges Barricade’s pedes further apart and kneels between them, servos sliding slowly up the Saleen’s thighs. He slowly leans forward, without Breaking optic contact, and licks a line from the back of Barricade’s valve slit, glossa sliding through slick folds, trailing over his anterior node, to the base of his spike, continuing along the underside of Barricade’s spike, from the base, all the way to the tip.

Barricade is quivering, entire frame tense as a bowstring. His fans are whirring loudly, his vents are ragged, and when Jazz retracts his glossa, meeting the Saleen’s optics with a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his intake, Barricade can’t find any reason to object to what the Autobot is doing.  _Willing and unashamed, just because he wants to do it for Barricade._

Jazz doesn’t give him more time to think about it; the Solstice dips down to lap at the slit of his valve again, alternating broad strokes of his glossa with twiddling Barricade’s anterior node with feather light touches of the tip. The Mustang fights to not grab Jazz’s helm and push him in, digs his digits into the cushion of the couch to keep himself from behaving in a way he will regret. The mewls and groans that are leaving his vocalizer is nothing short of pornographic, but it feels right, like he’s showing the Autobot the appreciation he deserves, so he doesn’t try to stifle them.

He has no track of time at all, but it feels like it’s just minutes before he’s teetering on the edge, frustrated every time Jazz backs off from the stimulation of his node that he needs to overload, and he growls in frustration when his valve clenches down on nothing, just to have the Spy back off, stop what he’s doing to vent cold air over his heated array. It doesn’t allow him to overload, and the charge doesn’t go away, just ebbs down into an unreleased throbbing need.

Jazz looks up at him with innocent optics that clash horribly with the lubricant smeared across his face. Barricade flushes from embarrassment.  _Damn it, is he really that wet?!_

“Ya thought I’d let ya finish before I got ta taste your cock properly? N’ your optics are still functioning.”

_Shameless Autobot._

Still looking Barricade in the optics, Jazz starts to lap at the head of the Interceptor’s spike, cleaning away the pre-transfluid with lazy strokes of his flattened glossa.  _It’s so unbelievably hot, especially when he teeks the Autobot’s field and all he can find there is raw want, arousal, attraction._

Jazz sucks the spike into his intake, takes it all inside in one smooth go until his nasal ridge nudges at Barricade’s pelvic plating. The Spy groans around his spike, the sound not nearly enough to cover the indecent sound that leaves Barricade’s vocalizer, but the vibrations forcing the Mustang to fight the urge to really thrust into that wet heat.

_Two of his optical feeds freeze, the third makes an entirely involuntary roll._

“You succeeded! Three optics officially glitched.” Barricade manages to warble through his panting.

Jazz chuckles around his spike, and the vibrations are there again, teasing the head of his spike, and his charge is rising so quickly… 

Jazz lifts his helm, lets Barricade’s spike slip all the way out to return to lapping at the head again.

“Ya really think I’d let ya cum this quickly?” He teases when Barricade growls in frustration.

It gives Barricade pause.  _He doesn’t want to be that kind of lover; impatient, selfish. Yet here he is, wishing Jazz would just let him blow his load down the Solstice’s throat immediately and be done with it._

“Of course not. But it doesn’t get less frustrating just because I know.”

“Poor, impatient li’l Mustang. I’m not gonna torture ya with teasin’ ya,” Jazz says, but there’s something devilish in his smile. “all night.” He finishes the sentence, stroking his servo along Barricade’s length.

Barricade groans.  _At least what Jazz is doing feels good_. He doesn’t protest though, lets the Autobot amuse himself with slowly building Barricade’s charge higher and higher until he stops again.

“So, how d’ya wanna continue?” Jazz asks.

Barricade stares dumbly at the Autobot.  _What?_

But actually, it’s a valid question. Does he just want a blowjob for himself? Does he want to reciprocate that favor?  _His kneejerk reaction to sucking spike is recoiling, disgust. But this is Jazz, and Jazz wouldn’t force him, wouldn’t ask it of him…_

“Because I’d very much enjoy if ya wanned ta fuck my brains out, but I could finish this if ya’d rather want that.”

Barricade’s processor stalls.

He reboots his optics, but the Spy is still kneeling there, between Barricade’s pedes.  _Stroking Barricade’s spike, shamelessly keeping optical contact with the Mustang while he does it, because Jazz clearly finds no shame in enjoying interfacing._

“I’d like to fuck you.” Barricade decides.  _Dreadbot said that he shouldn’t pass up on opportunities, and no matter how nervous he is, he knows that he would forever regret backing out now._

“So where should we do it? Here, my berth, or yours? Or tha washracks?” Jazz asks before leaning forward to press a kiss to the head of Barricade’s spike.

_It should be a weird conversation, to discuss it like this, but Barricade appreciates it, because it keeps it very clear that they are both consenting._ It does nothing to make him less nervous.

“My berth?”  _He feels at home there, less vulnerable than following Jazz into a room he has never dared setting a pede in._

Jazz nods and stands, holding his servo out for Barricade. The small Autobot easily helps Barricade to his pedes, then he motions to the door.

“Ya lead tha way.” He murmurs.

Barricade’s spark speeds up, but he slowly starts to walk to his room, holding Jazz’s servo to tug the Solstice along. He knows that Jazz is giving him all the power by doing this, but he doesn’t even feel remotely in control.  _Should he shut the door? They're alone in the apartment, but…_

Jazz distracts him when they step through the door by tugging at Barricade's servo, using the momentum to spin himself around to face the Interceptor, movements as smooth as a dancer.

“So, handsome, how do you want me.” The smile that stretches Jazz's lip-plates is lecherous, and he grabs Barricade's other servo, walking backwards to coax Barricade to the bed.

He follows easily, open door forgotten, and when Jazz's legs hit the berth, the Spy stops, pulling Barricade in for another kiss, leaving the Interceptor slightly dizzy when they break apart. The Autobot falls back before shimmying up the berth, beckoning the Saleen with a come-hither motion.

_Should he just crawl on top and frag Jazz? That just feels wrong. Selfish_. 

He crawls on all fours, dipping down to kiss Jazz's thigh, pressing nervous kisses to the plating as he advances, nudging the Solstice’s thighs further apart. When he dips his glossa into the juncture of Jazz’s hip joint, the Spy caresses his neck, digits sliding up to cup Barricade’s chin, and he lifts the Interceptor’s helm to get optic contact.

“Ya don’ hafta do that if ya don’ wanna. I’m… kind of ready…” Jazz drawls with a smirk.

Jazz’s lubricant is dribbling out already, valve-lips plump, and bio lights glowing brightly. There’s no doubt that he could take Barricade right now. But the Interceptor knows that he isn’t going to last long once he’s inside, and licking valve isn’t something he has been forced to more than that one time.  _And Jazz doesn’t expect him to do it, so there’s no pressure._

“I want to. I… I’m not experienced, though…”

“I’m not gonna turn down an offer like that.” Jazz murmurs, field pushing reassurance at him.

Barricade leans in hesitantly, drags his glossa through Jazz’s wet slit. The Spy mewls, and the  Interceptor feels how Jazz’s valve clenches. He dips his glossa inside, just a few inches, and the sound Jazz does is downright indecent. Barricade pulls his glossa out again, lapping up over the glowing anterior node, just to slide back down, dipping into Jazz again. He hears the growl, two optics tracking the way Jazz’s servos start to restlessly roam silver plating, the Spy teasing his own headlights and chest-plates.  _Jazz is getting frustrated._

It’s arousing, and it makes his confidence rise. Barricade finds a pace, repeating the motion over and over, until Jazz is writhing, talons scratching his own plating, the whimpers leaving his vocalizer telling of how close he’s getting. The Interceptor’s hips are rolling slowly, his hard spike rubbing against the sheets in a way that doesn’t really bring relief, but feels good nonetheless.

“Fuck me, Cade.  _Please,_  get that thick cock of yours inside me. I need ya so bad.” Jazz whimpers.

_Whimpers. Begging for Barricade to fuck him_. It’s such a novelty, this personal want and need, but it’s wildly arousing. Jazz doesn’t want a Decepticon to toy with, he wants Barricade.

“Please, don’ leave me like this, Barricade!” Jazz whines, and Barricade realizes that he has stopped licking Jazz’s valve while he processed the Spy’s words and field.

Spark speeding up again, he crawls up the Solstice’s frame to hover above Jazz on his elbows and knees, Jazz’s servos coming up to stroke down his sides to rest loosely on his hips. Thumbs toying with the Interceptor’s lower ventral plating, close to the base of his spike has his cock twitching, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, but he isn’t certain how to proceed, can’t quite grasp that Jazz actually wants him like this.

“Ya’re so pretty, li’l Mustang. “ Jazz murmurs, something soft in his optics when he looks at Barricade.

The Spy curls up minutely, tilting his helm in invitation and Barricade dips to meet him, lip-plates meeting with a tenderness he has never experienced before. The kiss is slow, languorous strokes of their glossas against each others’, deepening to absorb him. Jazz’s legs wraps around his hips, the Solstice’s servos sliding up his back to start toying with his shoulder-wings. The Spy is strong, clinging to Barricade, wet folds sliding against his length when Jazz grinds his hips, and the Saleen’s spike is achingly hard. They break apart, needing air to cool their heated frames.

“Please, Barricade, fuck me! I want ya so much.” Jazz murmurs, out of breath, bright optics locked on Barricade.

_How could he say no to that? He has never felt this wanted before, and he wants Jazz. The Autobot is clearly willing, spread out underneath him, and there’s nothing that makes him not want this himself._

The next time Jazz grinds against him, Barricade angles his hips, his spike slipping easily into Jazz’s valve.

_It’s all tight, wet heat, and it feels like the Spy’s valve is trying to devour his spike, clenching down to pull him deeper._

The Saleen allows himself to drop down to lay on top of Jazz, their fronts pressed together, and he leans in for another kiss as he starts to slowly roll his hips.  _Either he had forgotten how good it feels to spike someone, or this is just so much better than anything he has ever done before._  He can hardly believe that he’s actually fucking Jazz, half expecting to wake up in a puddle of transfluid.

Jazz turns his helm, breaking the kiss. “I really like that, but I can be somethin’ of a biter when I’m getting’ close, n’ I really like that glossa of yours still attached.” He pants, voice thick with arousal, crackling with static, before it turns into a drawn out moan.

It’s a good thing that the Spy is close, because Barricade’s charge is skyrocketing and he won’t be able to hold back much longer.

“Will this be enough? Do you need some other stimulation to come?” Barricade grinds out, fighting to hold back his own overload.  _He’s not going to come before he has satisfied Jazz._

_“Yes!”_  Jazz hisses.

Barricade stops when he almost has pulled all the way out. “’Yes’ what, little Autobot? Is it enough, or do you need something else?” The Interceptor steals the much needed moment to keep from just blowing his load, but he can’t help but tease the Spy while he does it.

It works. Jazz whines and bucks underneath him, desperate for more.

“Don’t  _tease!_  Please, Barricade jus’ fuck me! I’ll come for ya, if ya just fuck me deep n’ good!” Jazz mewls, pedes coming up to push against Barricade’s aft to get him deeper. “Please!”

The Mustang smirks at the frustrated Spy underneath him.  _He has never felt so wanted before, so powerful._  Talons scrabble against the plating on his back, those pedes dig in even harder, and Jazz is a writhing mess under him, whine turning to a frustrated growl.

“As you wish.” He murmurs in Jazz’s audial, his voice sending a shiver through the Solstice’s frame.

He hilts himself with a harsh thrust and Jazz wails in unadulterated pleasure, back arching. Barricade sets a hard and fast pace, bottoming out with every roll of his hips, and Jazz curls his frame to meet the Interceptor, to get as much as possible. Then sharp denta dig into Barricade’s neck-cables when Jazz overloads, vocalizer humming uncontrollably. The slight pain administered in such an intimate way sends Barricade over the edge. He slams in deep and holds still there, feeling how Jazz’s pulsing valve is milking his spike for every drop of transfluid. 

Jazz lets go of his neck-cables, helm lolling back, a lazy grin on his lips, and he has never been more handsome. Barricade allows his frame to go lax, stretched out on top of the Autobot, his slowly depressurizing spike sliding out of Jazz’s sloppy valve. He nuzzles into Jazz’s neck, inventing to drink in the smell of Jazz, newly fucked by him; heated plating, warm lubricants and oils, and Jazz’s polish.  _He did it. He fucked Jazz. It was better than he could ever dream of._  The Interceptor flops off of Jazz, stretching out next to the Spy, and he’s surprised when Jazz rolls over to press up against his frame, an arm snaking over his midsection, a leg across his thighs. He can feel transfluid drip from Jazz’s valve to run down Barricade’s thigh, and it’s strangely erotic. 

“Ya wanna cuddle a li’l before round two?” Jazz sounds kind of sleepy.

_Round two?!_

“Yeah?”

“We don’ hafta.”

“No, I was just surprised…”

“Mhm, ‘bout what? That I wanna snuggle with a mech who just made love to me?” Jazz mumbles.

“I… well, I’m just not used to it…”  _He was more of a frag and leave type of mech, and since his surrender_ … Barricade pointedly shoves that thought away.  _The bastards are not going to ruin this moment for him._

“Ya better get used ta it. I’m a snuggle bug.”

Barricade snorts at the expression, because it’s ridiculous. One of the most feared Autobots in the entire army, and also a  _snuggle bug. Go figure_.

Jazz presses in even closer, as if he’s trying to get under the Interceptor’s plating, and Barricade puts his arms around the Autobot.  _It really does feel nice._

“Ya’re so damn gorgeous.” Jazz blurts.

_How can Jazz think that? He’s scarred, and used up, and broken_.

“Stop it. I can teek that, ya know. I think ya’re gorgeous. Ya’ve been on my  _Cons-I-wanna-fuck-list_  since frag knows when. Always top five. N’ I’m so up for a repeat performance, this isn’t a conquest, or a one-nighter. Well, at least not for me.”

Barricade squirms embarrassedly, not used to so much appreciation.  _Not really used to any appreciation_. It’s still a nice novelty to feel so wanted, and he basks in Jazz’s field, so full of attraction and admiration, with a heavy current of lust. Barricade’s spike shows no sign of interest, but his valve heats up, and it brings mixed feelings. The Saleen knows that his first bastard manipulated him, but he still can’t help but feel cheap and filthy whenever his valve reacts to something, doesn’t trust his own frame to not be betraying him.  _He is cheap and filthy, everyone has had his valve, has filled him up with disgusting fluids. There’s no way a mech like Jazz would want to have him like that, even if he was certain he wanted to be fragged. Which he isn’t certain about at all._

Jazz servo strokes up and down his side lazily, the Spy clearly content where he’s resting with offlined optics, and Barricade’s frame is responding, heating up.  _Does he want that? His slick valve is suggesting that he does, but his valve has lied before. Jazz is nice, and attentive, and careful, though…_

“Relax, my mech, b’fore ya give me a whiplash.” Jazz mumbles. “Teek my field, n’ just enjoy this. Ya don’ need ta be worried ‘bout anythin’.” 

There’s a lot of things weaving through Jazz’s field, all of them on a positive note, and a very strong push of reassurance.  _He does feel safe with Jazz, more safe than with anyone else. If he’s ever going to allow someone to have his valve, Jazz is probably the best candidate. He is attracted to the Spy, so his frame’s responses must be true._

Tentatively, the Mustang slides his servo down Jazz’s ventral plating, towards the Spy’s still bare array. Jazz has not let his spike pressurize so far, and Barricade hesitates to rub the cover, still not entirely certain, his spark speeding up.  _Should he? What if he can’t go through with it, or he freaks out in the middle of it? Jazz won’t ever take him to berth again, and he’ll be pathetically stuck in celibacy forever._ He slides his thumb over the cover, rubbing it carefully.

Jazz onlines an optic to look at him.

“Ya sure?”

Barricade draws a shaky vent. “Yes.” He sounds squeaky, almost afraid.

“Ya don’ hafta, I won’t like ya less if ya don’ wanna. N’ we’ll stop if ya wanna stop, k’?”

It’s kind of ridiculous to need to be reassured like that, but it does make him feel safe. Barricade nods his agreement.

“So how ‘bout I touch ya first, n’ if ya like it, we’ll see where it leads.”

“I’d like that.”

“Can I lick ya again? I  _really_  like lickin’ ya.” Jazz purrs.

Barricade nods, suddenly feeling too shy to answer,  _and isn’t that a paradox for a mech who everyone have seen naked and half the planet has fucked?_  But this is about his wants, and that’s embarrassing in an entirely different way.

He stretches out on his back, spreading his legs, and he feels so vulnerable to be on display like that, Jazz’s hungry optics roving his frame, but as soon as he teeks Jazz’s field, he’s once again reassured that there is nothing but admiration and want, no hunger for his humiliation. Jazz slides down his frame, nipping and kissing a hot trail of sensation over heating plating until his glossa finally makes contact with Barricade’s node. There’s a lot of things Barricade is not sure of about his frame’s reactions, but this…  _this,_  he really likes. Jazz is very talented with his glossa. The Spy flat tongues his slit and node with broad strokes, and Barricade feels himself relaxing as arousal takes over and drowns out his nerves. 

Then Jazz’s glossa wiggles inside, slides into his wet valve, lighting up nodes along the way. The Saleen mewls loudly, not prepared for how good it feels when Jazz slowly fucks him with his glossa, tip of his tongue skillfully finding nodes and sensitive spots. He doesn’t even notice when he spreads his legs wider, isn’t fully aware of how his servos are digging into the bedding when he writhes in pleasure from the Solstice’s ministrations.

Jazz lets his glossa slide out, lapping at Barricade’s node, and the tip of a digit dips shallowly into Barricade’s valve. He almost tenses, because he cant even count how many times he has been touched like that unwillingly, but he props a pillow under his helm, and flicks his optics down, lets the sight of the Spy willingly licking his node ground him as much as the wanting field wrapping around his with a sense of safety.  _Jazz wants him to feel good, to enjoy it._

Another digit is added, slowly curling and uncurling inside him to hit that sweet spot that makes his back arch when he grinds down on the servo.  _It feels so fucking good._  The Saleen rolls his hips to get those digits to rub against that sweet spot, his charge rising quickly. _It would be so easy to just let Jazz keep going, to allow the Solstice to bring him over like this_.

But Barricade wants more, he doesn’t want to pass up on this opportunity, and he is certain that Jazz isn’t going to ask for anything.  _It’s up to him._

“I want you, Jazz.” He says, because he finds himself too shy to say exactly what he wants.  _What should he say? “Fuck me”? Crude. “Make love to me”? Presumptuous somehow, even if Jazz called it making love when Barricade spiked him._

“Ya can have me. Any way ya want.”

_Of course the Spy leaves the choice to him, forcing him to say what he wants_.

“I… I want you in me. Your spike.” Barricade mumbles, nervous and embarrassed.

Jazz twiddles Barricade’s node with his glossa again before answering, making Barricade squirm, some of his nerves forgotten with the pleasure.

“Mhm. N’ how d’ya want it? Ya wanna be on top?”

The Interceptor can see what Jazz is doing: the Autobot is handing over control to him. He would be in control on top, and the fantasy of Jazz riding  _him,_  the Solstice shameless in his sexuality, is very enticing. But Barricade is nowhere near confident enough to do that without feeling ridiculous and awkward.

“Missionary?” He asks shyly, even though Jazz is currently licking his valve.

“Absolutely, darlin’.”

Jazz kisses his node, a light touch of the Spy’s lip-plates, then he crawls up Barricade’s frame, kissing plates along the way, glossa dipping in to touch clusters of sensors in a very deliberate way. Barricade squirms underneath the Autobot, valve feeling slick and empty. Jazz hovers above him on knees and elbows, catching the Interceptor’s optics.

“Ya ready?” He murmurs.

Barricade draws a nervous vent and nods.  _At least he thinks he’s as ready as he’ll ever be._

Jazz leans in to murmur in his audial. “Relax, sweetspark. I’ll take really good care of ya.” 

Then he kisses Barricade’s cheek, light touches of soft lip-plates until he reaches the Saleen’s intake. The Decepticon meets him, answers the sensual slide of Jazz’s glossa against his upper lip, requesting entrance. Jazz deepens the kiss, and Barricade’s processor goes blank. He offlines his optics, giving himself over to sensation, intensely aware of how Jazz’s field is caressing his in a way that’s setting his entire frame alight. His valve pulses with need, slick and heavy, but he still tenses slightly when the head of Jazz’s spike nudges his entrance. With a wordless croon, still not breaking the kiss, the Solstice wraps him in reassurance, and Barricade tries to convey that he’s ok, even if he’s nervous, tries to broadcast that he wants it. Jazz heeds the call. With an almost painfully slow roll of his hips, the Solstice slides inside, ridged spike rubbing against every node along the way. He slides his servo down Barricade’s ventral plating to search out his anterior node, rubbing it with a careful digit, slick with the Mustang’s lubricant.

“Does it feel ok?” Jazz breaks the kiss to ask him.

_“Yes!”_  Barricade hisses.

Jazz hums, a sound that is satisfied with both himself and Barricade’s answer, then he starts to move, a steady roll of his hips, long and deep strokes that are both slow and powerful. It stimulates every node inside him without being too much, and Barricade finds himself tilting his hips to allow the Spy easier access. 

“Ya’re so fuckin’ sexy, ya have no idea how long I’ve been fantasizing about even bein’ allowed near ya.” Jazz murmurs. “Such a very pretty li’l Mustang.”

He has never had anyone whisper anything like that to him before, not even before his surrender, and the sincerity of Jazz’s field is almost overwhelming when it’s paired with the Autobot’s want.  _How can anyone find him that attractive?_

Then Jazz increases his pace, and Barricade doesn’t have the processor power to keep thinking about those things, overwhelmed by sensory input from his frame and his field. At least, he onlines his optics again, looking up at the concentrated face of the Spy, the bright optics locked on his face, the mouth slightly open in bliss.

Barricade lifts his hips to meet every thrust, talons scrabbling over the plating on Jazz’s back, holding on as if he needs to steady himself. He’s racing towards the edge quickly, amazed by how aroused he is.  _Such a difference from all the unwanted overloads he has had. He wants Jazz so much, his frame’s reactions are honest and true and very welcome._

When he tips over the edge, his back arches, his optics white out, and his valve is contracting so hard, his hips are twitching with the rhythm. Lines of code flash by his HUD, lines he has never seen before, and there’s a strange swelling sensation in his chest. Distantly, he hears a click and sounds of transformation, but he can’t place it, can’t focus on that in his blissed out state as charge rake his systems in a delicious way.

Barricade’s frame finally goes limp, fans whirring on full speed, and his optics reboot.

The first thing he sees is a light, a kind of light that he has rarely seen before, and never in a sexual context, and his optics flick down.  _His chest-plates are open. It’s_ his _spark light that is lighting up the room, illuminating the Spy’s suddenly serious face-plates in a bright blue-tinted light._

_Fuck._

It’s such an implication, such a revelation, to have his chest-plates sliding apart, his spark-chamber irising open without his conscious consent.  _Is that really what he wants? Maybe it is? Jazz is nice and careful, takes good care of him, and makes sure that he is comfortable and has everything he needs in every way._

Jazz is staring into that light, his expression a confusing mix of wary, and rapture.

“It’s not that I don’ wan’ it, I’m jus’ surprised.” The Spy mumbles.

“I-I…” Barricade trails off, completely stupefied.  _What’s he supposed to say, really? He’s ready for a spark merge at their first interface, he’s a slave, and Jazz is his owner, and it doesn’t matter how hard he has fallen for the Spy, he’s still just a filthy Decepticon whore Jazz saved out of pity, and possibly because the Autobot hoped to get to fuck him._

“Are ya aware of what it’ll mean? I’m bonded ta all of my team. Ya’ll be bonded by proxy ta every Autobot who was on Earth back when we were at war.”

_What?_

“What? I just… I don’t know, I didn’t mean to open up like this.” Barricade mumbles, completely at a loss for what to say.

“Some of the mechs in our team of the army where bonded. It was such a liability; we watched mechs suffer Hell, just to wither away from broken bonds during the war. So we started to bond with each other for safety n’ support. If a bond-mate dies, there’s always more mechs to support the one in mourning. We can never take each others’ places, but the void is smaller, ‘n we’re never alone in our grief. If we merge sparks, ya’re goin’ ta get bonded to tha rest of tha Prime-crew from Earth through me.”

Somehow, that just  _doesn’t_  feel like a liability. It’s unorthodox, at least for a Decepticon, but it’s logical in a way that he hasn’t ever considered before. It makes them both vulnerable and stronger at the same time.  _They’re family, something he has never had, but he finds himself wanting._

“I don’t care. I want you. I want that.” Barricade mumbles. It’s barely a whisper.

“Ya sure? Ya’ll feel me all tha time, n’ I’ll feel you. No hidin’ feelins. N’ ya’ll feel my other bond-mates. It’ll be like a constant whisper ya can  _almost_  hear, but not quite, n’ ya might wind up wantin’ ta merge with them too ta be able ta feel them for real instead of jus’ guessin’…”

_It’s really like that? He’ll notice the others enough to be annoyed with not feeling them fully until he bonds with them? Is it worth the risk? Would he really do something as intimate as a spark merge with the rest of the Prime’s Autobots to not drive himself crazy? Just to be with Jazz?_

“Yes, please. I want you. I’ll deal with the others when the time comes for that.”  _It’s true. If Jazz likes the others of his unit enough to get bonded, Barricade will trust that. Jazz is worth it._

The Spy smiles slowly, not his usual cocky smirk, but something much softer, something intimate.

“I’m honored, darlin’.” The Autobot mumbles, leaning in to kiss Barricade.

There’s the sound of locks being unlatched, and suddenly everything is twice as brightly lit.

_Jazz has opened his chest-plates._

“If ya’re still sure, I’ll be very happy ta merge with ya.” Jazz murmurs.

_Primus, is he sure?!_

“Yes, I want it!” Barricade hisses. _He really does._

Jazz slowly leans forward, the coronas of their sparks reaching out for each other, tendrils stretching to mingle, pulling their energy forward to initiate the merge. Barricade groans.  _He has never merged before, and it is more intense than he ever could've imagined. And they’re not even fully merged yet._

He can sense the Spy’s very essence, and he’s shocked to find how deep the Spy’s feelings for him run: protectiveness, attraction and something very tangible, something he can’t put a word on.

Jazz leans even deeper, their chest-plates grabbing on to each other, holding them steady as the merge deepens.  _So much sensation_. Barricade gives himself over to it, allows himself to be submerged and pulled under until he can’t tell where Jazz ends and he starts. There’s a warmth there, something he wants to bask in, roll around in until it permeates him, something he greedily grabs for. He can feel Jazz’s fond amusement, and then it wraps around him.

Vaguely, he’s aware of racing towards his overload, and he mourns that this is going to be over so soon, but Jazz pushes the promise that they will do this again soon, pushes that warm, unnamed feeling at him again.

The Saleen overloads, and he pulls the Spy with him, their sparks flaring in a way that might’ve been disconcerting if he had had the wherewithal to reflect upon it. He doesn’t though. Instead, Barricade is knocked into a hard reboot, but before his systems shut down, he has a revelation, he understands what that unnamed feeling Jazz wrapped him in is.

_It’s love._


End file.
